Cobalt Wing
by SilverWing the Warrior
Summary: Commander Martin Shepard never thought of himself as anything special, just another soldier doing his job. But when a routine mission goes completely awry, Martin finds himself on the trail of a rogue soldier, tormented by a forbidden romance, and generally in over his head. Can he rise to the occasion and become the hero he was born to be?
1. Prologue

(Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or so the saying goes, which is why I aim for accurate imitation. All characters and transcribed dialogue belong to BioWare. Default BroShep with slightly longer hairstyle, Spacer/Sole Survivor.)

Prologue

There was nothing unusual about the shuttle ride from Earth's surface to the space station orbiting above the blue-green sphere. Martin noticed a few glances in his direction from the other soldiers, but he pretended he hadn't seen them looking at the N7 insignia on the right breast of his armor and the thick red stripe down his right arm with a thinner white stripe on either side. When the shuttle reached the station, its occupants would all go their separate ways, each to a different assignment. The next leg on Martin's journey would be another shuttle to Arcturus Station; he had taken a short leave in order to unwind a little after his last post ended, and now he was due to report to Systems Alliance headquarters to receive his next assignment.

Martin stepped off the shuttle and into the station's data processing center. It was a long metal-walled corridor with rows of doors on each side. Martin walked through one of the doors into a small room. The only remarkable feature of this place was a boxlike computer against the far wall, a cool glow emanating from its holographic screen and keyboard interface. Martin walked straight up to the computer and selected the option to check in to the special forces database. It was standard procedure; the paper-pushers at headquarters would want to know he was on his way back from leave. The computer opened a program that read 'Alliance Military Personnel Database ***N7***' and underneath these words a warning flashed in red 'Classified TOP SECRET.' A calm, feminine-sounding computerized voice said "Welcome to Alliance Military Database. Classified information requested."

Martin chose the option to connect to the database and waited for the computer to finish securing the connection. One of the problems with his N7 status was that it increased the number of hoops he had to jump through in order to get his job done. Still, Martin could deal with red tape, and there were definitely perks to being among the best of the Systems Alliance Military's Special Forces. Of course, he wasn't in it solely for the benefits. N7 or not, Martin saw himself as a soldier doing a soldier's duty: protecting innocents and saving lives. If that meant he had to wait for a computer to load, then so be it.

The computer finished processing and requested that he log in with his last name, first name, middle initial and rank. Martin placed his hands over the keyboard and typed in 'Shepard, Martin R., Lieutenant Commander.' The gloves of his charcoal-black armor allowed the holographic keyboard to read the pressure from his fingertips as if he were typing on something solid. He waited again as the computer tried to access and decrypt his information. Then he gave a slight sigh as red lights began flashing on the screen and the virtual voice said "Warning: data corruption detected." This process was going to take longer than he thought, but he wasn't an impatient person. He accepted the profile reconstruction option that the computer gave him and typed up brief summaries of his pre-service history and psychological profile. He kept the latter short; there were events in his past that he tried to keep out of his thoughts as much as possible.

Then the computer requested he confirm his military specialization. Martin felt a bit puzzled that with all the past few centuries' advances in technology the computer's sensors couldn't detect that he was lightly armored and carrying a rather obvious sniper rifle on his back and a pistol at his side, but he entered the information anyway. Martin had been trained as a Tactical Reconnaissance Specialist, known as an 'Infiltrator' in the shorthand used among Alliance grunts. He was definitely not one of those soldiers who revels in being the first into the fray; he was at his best staying at a distance while taking out enemy troops with his sniper rifle, using the holographic omni-tool interface he carried on his left forearm to disrupt their shields and mess with their electronic systems, and generally making himself a nuisance for the opposition. Staying out of the thick of the fight as much as possible also gave him plenty of opportunities to analyze the battlefield and adjust his squad's strategy if something unexpected happened. Martin was a natural tactician and leader, and his superiors knew it even though he tended to take his own capabilities for granted.

Martin blinked slightly as a thin beam of light flickered from the computer across his face, scanning his facial features and genetic signature. His face had an almost rectangular shape to it, with ears set close to the sides of his head. His nose was a bit on the wide side, his cheekbones were well-defined but not particularly high, and his rather thick eyebrows sat fairly close above his pale blue eyes. His black hair made his eye color startling for some people; blue eyes are a recessive genetic trait, while dark hair is a dominant trait, which made the combination of the two unusual since an increased rate of genetic mixing between racial groups over the past two hundred years had made some recessive traits quite rare among humans. His hair was cropped short, military-fashion, about three-quarters of an inch long at the top of his head moving down to barely there at his sideburns and at the hairline in back. If you looked closely, you could make out a thin near-vertical scar on the left side, just above his forehead. He also had a layer of stubble across his chin, giving him a slightly-scruffy-but-not-unkempt look.

The computer voice droned "Identification confirmed," and Martin logged out and went on his way. He had less trouble than he expected locating the waiting area for the next shuttle to Arcturus, which left him with some time to kill before the shuttle was scheduled to begin boarding. He thought about getting out his holobook – a specialized data reader with almost an entire library's worth of literature stored on it, mostly a wide range of classical fiction from Hamlet to Harry Potter, and also a few of his favorite old films and television shows. But instead of hitting the books right away, he went over to a small window and looked out. The great blue curve of Earth's surface stretched before him, broken by the occasional splash of white cloud or brown continent. Above the horizon, the vast dark void of space loomed over the peaceful scene below.

_This is where we began,_ he thought. _Ever since humans first evolved, we struggled to survive and thrive here. Most of us are still doing that – normal people, just trying to do their jobs and raise their families, whether it's on Earth or a colony world. And soldiers like me are out here fighting for them, making sure they can go about their lives without being attacked by who knows what. The galaxy is a dangerous place; I know that just as well as any experienced Alliance soldier. But giving humanity a chance to reach for the stars – giving ordinary people a chance to build a better future – is worth the risk._

Meanwhile, in a boardroom hundreds of light-years away, three men were seated around a circular table littered with datapads – dossiers on dozens of Alliance servicemen and women who had proven themselves to be exceptional in one way or another. Most of these dossiers had been thoroughly reviewed and subsequently rejected. One of the table's occupants, a thin-faced man with graying hair, a sharp nose and sharper eyes, picked up another dossier and began to look it over. He moved quickly and decisively, as if he was growing tired of scouring through datapad after datapad but remained unwilling to stop searching until he had found the option least likely to fail. "Well, what about Shepard? He's a spacer. Lived aboard starships most of his life."

Another man with dark skin and close-cropped black hair shifted over in his chair slightly to look at the datapad. His military uniform was spotless and wrinkle-free, and his countenance was stern but clearly capable of showing kindness when the situation called for it. "Military service runs in the family. Both his parents were in the navy."

The third member of the party, a white-haired man with an impressive goatee, a scar across his face and keen blue eyes, managed to avoid ruffling his own uniform as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table. He clearly had some familiarity with the subject of conversation. "He saw his whole unit die on Akuze. He could have some serious emotional scars."

The second man leaned forward to meet the third's gaze. "Every soldier has scars. Shepard's a survivor." Judging by his tone, he seemed to be getting increasingly adamant in his decision that they had found what they were looking for.

The first member of the meeting raised a doubting eyebrow. "Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?"

The second looked over the datapad to make eye contact with the first. "That's the only kind of person who can protect the galaxy."

The first man hesitated for a moment before he opened his mouth to speak. "I'll make the call."

–

**In the year 2014, readers on the internet discovered the retelling of an epic tale. In the chapters that followed, a fresh spin on a familiar protagonist revealed startling new twists, while supporting characters were developed further and one or two original characters added through 'what if' speculation. The basis for this fanfic was one of the most awesome role-playing games ever.**

**They called it just another boring rehash of the same story they had played through time and time again.**

**The author calls it...**

**COBALT WING**


	2. Part 1, Ch 1 - First Impressions

(Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or so the saying goes, which is why I aim for accurate imitation. All characters and transcribed dialogue belong to BioWare. Default BroShep with slightly longer hairstyle, Spacer/Sole Survivor.)

Part 1, Chapter 1

First Impressions

Thanks to the mass relays, it took less than a minute for the transport to get from the Sol system to the Arcturus system. However, thanks to an unfortunate fluke within Arcturus station's docking schedule, it took several hours before the transport was safely berthed. Martin lost no time in getting to the assignments office, even though it was difficult for him to hurry while dragging the foot locker that held his few personal possessions on a small luggage trolley behind him.

As he entered the office, he paused for a second at the sight of a young blonde woman behind the desk. He thought she was attractive, but now was no time to engage in trivial romantic pursuits. Besides, his attempts at flirtation usually turned out kind of awkward.

He hurried up to the desk. "Sorry I'm late," he said to the woman, hoping she hadn't caught him checking her out. "Commander Shepard, reporting for duty."

The woman barely glanced up from the holographic screen she was looking at. "Yes, Commander. I have you down for – oh!"

Martin's brows lowered slightly. "Something wrong?"

"Your assignment has just changed all of a sudden. This... never happens." She then resumed her professional demeanor. "Your current assignment is as Executive Officer of the SSV Normandy. Your orders are to report to the Normandy's Commanding Officer, Captain David Anderson, immediately. The Normandy is docked in Hangar D21."

Martin made as much of a beeline as possible for the hangar bay. He was alone on the long elevator ride to D21, which gave him plenty of time to wonder what was going on, but no answers. He had never heard of a ship called Normandy before – probably a frigate, judging by the name. He had heard of Captain Anderson before: he was one of the most decorated soldiers in the Alliance Navy. They had never met in person, and Martin found himself wondering what it would be like to have this famous warrior as his CO. The prospect was a little bit intimidating. _Then again_, he reflected, _some of the crew might be just as nervous about having me as their XO. _The fact that surviving Akuze had given him a reputation for superior strength and willpower didn't often occur to him. It wasn't a reputation he really thought he deserved; most of his memories of Akuze were of him running like hell just to stay alive.

When the elevator doors opened, Martin expected the Captain to be there to greet him, but he saw no one. Instead, a massive window in the opposite wall looked out on an awe-inspiring sight. There was a starship there, about the size of a frigate, but with substantial design differences from a normal Alliance frigate. She had a long, thin body with two sets of 'wings,' almost as long, on each side. On the back end of each 'wing' was a large thruster – clearly, this ship was built for speed. Martin moved towards the window to get a closer look. The ship was painted in white and dark gray with a couple of short red stripes along the side. The word 'Normandy' was painted on the side of her body, and the designation 'SR-1' on her wing.

"Looks like she's made an impression on you already," The calm but firm voice behind him almost made Martin jump. He turned around to see Captain Anderson standing a few meters behind him – unknown to him, Anderson was the second person in the group that had been talking about him hours ago.

Martin stood at attention and saluted. "Sir."

Anderson held up one hand. "At ease, Commander. I imagine you must have questions."

"What exactly is this ship? I mean, it's obvious that she's a frigate, but she doesn't look like any Alliance vessel I've ever seen. And what does the SR-1 designation stand for?"

Anderson moved to the window and looked out. "The SSV Normandy Stealth Reconnaissance-1 is a product of human and turian cooperative design. Her prototype stealth systems allow her to travel short distances without being detected – ideal for covert reconnaissance." Anderson paused for a second as he turned to face Martin. "Well, Shepard, any first impressions you'd like to mention?"

Martin almost didn't know what to say. To take part in the first use of such cutting-edge technology was a huge opportunity, and here it was being practically handed to him. "It will be an honor to serve on board the Normandy, sir."

Anderson nodded. "That's what I thought when the Alliance brass offered to put this ship in my hands. The Normandy is nearly ready for her shakedown run. Most of the crew is already on board. The tech teams will be running final diagnostics during the next twenty-four hours. Feel free to familiarize yourself with the ship until then. Oh, and one more thing: a team from the Alliance News Network will be here this evening at nineteen-thirty hours. They're doing an extranet piece on the Normandy, they have clearance to film on her upper deck, and they're going to want to interview some of the officers. I hope you're up for it."

"It won't be a problem." Martin was confident about that; while he occasionally struggled with knowing what to say in a one-on-one conversation, he tended to handle himself well when it came to playing to a crowd.

Anderson paused and looked at Martin, lost in thought for a brief moment. "All right. Enough talk, let's get your things squared away." Anderson walked into the docking tube that led to the Normandy, and Martin followed.

As he stepped on board the Normandy for the first time, Martin didn't suspect that anything unusual was afoot. His last-minute transfer to the crew had certainly been strange, but he chalked it up to some kind of bureaucratic fluke. He figured taking a first-gen frigate on her shakedown run wouldn't be difficult – just another routine voyage.

He couldn't have been more wrong.


End file.
